Romantic Odyssey
by Oh Prudence
Summary: She found the complicated love with all its technicolored patterns and madness, and pivoting riots and crescent smiles that could either go up or down depending on what time of the month it was for her, and if his Quidditch game was successful or not.


…something much vaster much more enduring

and powerful than the accumulation

of matter or energy in any

imaginable cosmos…

-_Nabokov_

~.~

**ROMANTIC ODYSSEY**

~.~

**1**

"Prelude (into Eternity)"

When minutes have surpassed its romantic moments, and the seconds have outlived its touching games, when flesh lies in a tumultuous pile of a girl's bravado because His wand decided to flick its middle finger to her chest, she'll be able to say she was the one of the ones of the Ones who loved because the stars told her so.

She wanted to feel wild passion.

She'd love till love itself shot electric circuits into the veins, pouring out a serenity thick enough to choke whoever had unknowingly cut her up in the first place. She didn't want a fadedsparkling-champagne snog-burdened love, she wanted GLITTER AND RED—a diamond found in soil, some kind of lust that preyed on velvet moments and burning rage. In the end she wanted everything—the good, the bad, the terrifyingly ugly—to be spilled out on the table.

It became truthful, it became raw: it was a crimson, red-in-the-face lung match until ears melted off thanks to the density of grey smoke.

She never sought for pretty—she thrived on the complex because it _wasn't_ clear and _wasn't _expected, and hurtful decisions had to be made but in the end it'd be worth it because nothing was held back.

He never held back.

She certainly never held back.

They BOTH never held back, and that's what made it so grand, so glorifyingly robust.

Love gave her the complicated sort with all its technicolored patterns and madness, and pivoting riots and crescent smiles that could either go up or down depending on what time of the month it was for her, and if his Quidditch game was successful or not.

It was lunacy's crazed passion and it was clearly unorthodox.

But it was right and colorful and spontaneously wonderful—they were the idea of innocent moments, stimulated by the brush of a schoolgirl and a schoolboy's fingertips. Madness skyrocketed unknowingly through love's peak points because said schoolgirl and schoolboy were too haughty and too blind with noses too TOO HIGH to realize they were already in their final years together.

It finally happened on a grey night in March, seventh year, three months before commencement.

Emotions had her running on ecstasy and excitement kept her on her toes and truth be told, he was experiencing the same thing in masculine form. It was on these days and nights when none of their friends asked where this adrenaline rush came from, or why her cheeks flooded with a golden persimmon, or why his showers ran above and beyond hypothermic.

It was obvious and you'd be point-blank stupid if you had to ask.

There was a day when Emmeline Vance was still Emmeline Potts and Miss Potts asked Lily Evans if she'd ever felt IT—if she'd ever felt that heaven-sent passion righteously bestowed to a handful of few favored ones.

Lily Evans was seventeen years old and she said yes. Yes, she certainly had.

But before she could experience any of this, before he could solely win her affections, there was a price to pay, and moments to be shed and regrets to make and pieces and souls and touching games to bury because before they said 'I do', before they fully lived in one flesh, James Potter and Lily Evans held back.

And maybe it was a good thing nothing was said before this time… so maybe it's best that they waited, for the plots of the story would've been inferior… maybe the fate of this story could have been changed... maybe something greater could have happened. Or maybe it's best the past is left at will?

But the time has come, and though uneasy, we cannot question furthermore, but we must comprehend that this said past can never be forgotten.

Never.

And if you asked these two today when PAST significantly started, the both of them would say it began with the death of Mary Macdonald.


End file.
